


Shook the Bones of Me

by Mireille



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 08:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21013154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mireille/pseuds/Mireille
Summary: Tony and Steve have some rare free time together. Steve has plans for it.





	Shook the Bones of Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soft_princess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soft_princess/gifts).

> As is true with oh, so much of my MCU fanfic, you can assume that everything through Avengers (2012) happened, and then things take a hard left turn into things I think are way more fun. 
> 
> Written to a prompt from soft_princess, and posted for her birthday, because she's the best.

****

Tony had been disappointed that morning when Steve had told him not to make plans for their evening together. It had been days since the two of them had the chance to be alone for more than a few stolen moments. They'd both been stretched even thinner than usual lately, and their personal lives were always the first things they let slide.

That wasn't ideal, obviously, but at least for once, Tony wasn't the only one trying and failing to be in six places at once. Steve understood when he worked through dinner because he lost track of time in the lab, and Tony accepted that sometimes, he'd get home to find a note explaining that Steve had just taken off for Symkaria to deal with a Hydra cell they'd just discovered. 

So when they could be together, Steve always insisted they should make an effort. "Not making plans" didn't feel like an effort. 

When he came into the penthouse in the early evening, though--not sure if he should even expect to see Steve tonight; he hadn't heard a word from him since their hurried breakfast together--he realized that he'd misunderstood Steve. 

He wasn't supposed to make plans for the evening, because Steve already had. 

Steve was on the couch, reading through some files--on paper, because Steve always swore he processed information better if he could hold the reports in his hands--but when Tony came in, he set the folders aside on the coffee table and got to his feet, smiling at Tony. 

The wicked curve of that particular smile would have been enough to let Tony in on the nature of Steve's plans, but getting a good look at him left no room for doubt. Steve was wearing a tight black T-shirt, clinging to his chest and arms as always; a pair of faded jeans that Tony knew from experience were worn into softness; and a black leather belt. His feet were concealed behind the coffee table, but Tony didn't have to see them to know they were bare. Steve always went barefoot on nights like this. 

Tony stopped just inside the door, waiting to see what Steve wanted from him. 

"Hey there," Steve said, coming closer to him so that Tony could see that he was holding a thin strip of leather in his hand. 

Tony's collar. 

Steve held the collar up, eyebrows raised in a question. Even after all this time with Steve, Tony wasn't always okay feeling as vulnerable as he did when he was wearing the collar, so they often played without it. 

But tonight, he nodded, bending his head so that Steve could buckle it around his neck. 

As soon as it was in place, Steve frowned a little. "You know the rules, boy. You're overdressed." 

Rule one: once Tony's collar was on, they didn't use names until the scene was over; he was Steve's boy, and Steve was "Sir." 

Rule two: unless Steve told him otherwise, Tony should be naked while his collar was on. 

He was glad he'd been trying out some modifications to his armor in his workshop today, instead of caught up in meetings; a T-shirt and jeans were easier to get out of quickly than a three-piece suit and tie. 

Steve waited silently while Tony undressed and left his clothes folded on a chair, then smiled as Tony sank to his knees without waiting for an order. 

"Sit back on your heels if you need to," Steve said, the way he always did. Tony was in pretty good shape for a man his age, but his knees couldn't take the same treatment they could when he was twenty. Steve bringing that up before it was an issue seemed to be the best way to keep him from getting defensive about it. 

"Thank you, sir." Tony didn't move, though. He always stayed like this--on his knees, his hands behind his back, his spine held straight and stiff--until either Steve told him otherwise, or he was too physically uncomfortable to hold the pose. 

If Steve had ordered him to kneel like that, he'd stay in that position no matter how much his back, knees, and shoulders ached, but Steve rarely did. 

Steve knew the physical discomfort wasn't a part of Tony's enjoyment. He didn't get off on pain, as such, and to the best of his knowledge, Steve didn't get off on inflicting it. 

For Tony, this was all about being able to take everything Steve gave him. To do everything Steve wanted of him, and to do it _perfectly_. 

They both already knew Tony could take pain. He'd never have made it out of Afghanistan alive if he couldn't. It was taking orders that presented a challenge. 

Taking orders, and also taking--for the lack of a better word--affection. 

Not that he didn't love Steve. Not that he didn't know that Steve loved him. But they'd been in "anything you can do, I can do better" mode since they day they met, and it was hard for Tony to let that go. 

And no shit, the guy who literally went around in a suit of armor had problems with being vulnerable. Even with Steve. 

But once Steve buckled that collar around his neck, his choices narrowed to two: let himself be vulnerable, or safeword. 

He didn't mind using his safeword if he needed to, but he wasn't going to do it for that. 

"Good boy," Steve said, caressing Tony's cheek, and Tony leaned into the touch, nuzzling Steve's palm. He wanted to argue, to make sure Steve knew that he didn't need his condescending praise. 

Except that he did. It sent a rush of heat through him, like good whiskey. Exactly like whiskey, in fact: warming and intoxicating and something Tony should probably crave a lot less often than he did. 

Then something in the kitchen dinged, and Steve took a step back. "Dinner's ready. Can you get to the kitchen on your knees, or should I let you get up?"

"I can do it, sir."

Steve frowned. "Look up at me, boy." Tony lifted his gaze up from the floor. "Tell me if you need to be allowed to stand. The truth, not what you think I want to hear."

He hesitated. There had definitely been an element of "I can take whatever you give me" in his quick agreement, but... "I can do it now, sir. Maybe later, after I've been on my knees for a while, I'll need to stand up and walk. But right now, I'm good." 

"See, honesty wasn't so bad, was it?" Steve caressed Tony's cheek again. 

He wasn't expected to reply, thankfully, because Steve wouldn't like the grumbling. He just followed Steve into the kitchen, crawling on all fours because it was faster, if less dignified, than shuffling on his knees. 

Besides, when Steve turned and saw Tony down on his hands and knees, his expression softened a little and his breath hitched, and Tony never got tired of having that effect on Steve. 

"Sit there next to my chair," Steve said, so Tony did, watching Steve take things out of the oven and arrange them on a plate. 

Just a single plate, but that didn't surprise Tony. They didn't have the time or the privacy to do this often, but he knew that if Steve had his way, they'd share every meal like this. 

Steve did pour two glasses of white wine--technically, one glass and one ceramic mug. Steve wasn't a big drinker, but Tony had found a few wines Steve liked the taste of even if they had no effect on him, and they sometimes had them with dinner. 

Then Steve sat down, and Tony crawled over to lean against Steve's thigh. He kept silent, his gaze directed at the floor; Steve petted his hair a little, and Tony closed his eyes, soaking up the touch. 

Something was placed against his lips, and Tony opened his mouth obediently so that Steve could feed him a bite of chicken. 

He fed Tony several more bites--chicken, vegetables, potato; no sauces that would drip and make a mess--and ate some of his own meal, then held the coffee cup of wine to Tony's lips for him to drink. They'd tried using proper glassware before, but this was less awkward.

In between bites, Tony rested his head against Steve's leg, keeping his eyes closed so that he could pretend Steve had no idea how much he was enjoying being close to Steve like this. 

None of this--giving in to Steve, obeying Steve, letting Steve lavish affection on him because that was what Steve wanted to do--was ever easy for him. He fought it, and fought it, until finally, his mind would let go of the idea that he had to "win" against Steve somehow, and everything inside his head would be still and quiet, and it would all be worth it. 

He was getting to that point now, because Steve kept stroking his hair, and feeding him bites of dinner, and talking to him in that tone of voice that made about ninety-five percent of Tony's brain want to sit up and beg. 

The five percent that always wanted to argue that it would mean letting Steve "win," somehow, at least had amazing sex to look forward to. 

Once they'd both finished eating, Steve pushed his chair back and stood up, keeping a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Bedroom," he said. "Walk, though. I'm going to be keeping you on your knees for a while once we get there." He let go of Tony's shoulder, taking his hand instead and tugging him to his feet. 

Tony followed Steve into the bedroom, going back down on his knees right away just to hear the pride in Steve's voice when he said, "That's perfect. That's exactly what I want from you, just turn and face the bed." 

Steve went to the dresser, pulling open the top drawer, where Tony's collar was kept in between nights like this, and taking out a set of leather handcuffs. 

"Hands in front of you." 

Tony must have let some of his disappointment show in his face, because Steve added, "The last time I cuffed them behind your back for a long session, your left shoulder was stiff for a couple of days. We can't keep you out of commission for that long right now."

"A long session?" Tony repeated. He wasn't sure if he liked the sound of that. Not to mention that he'd thought he'd done a better job of hiding that his shoulder had hurt after the last time. He hadn't wanted Steve to notice, because then Steve would know that Tony should have used his safeword but had been too stubborn. 

He wasn't going to make that mistake again, but he still hadn't wanted Steve to see it. 

"I think we both need it," Steve said, "but if it's too much--"

He put his hands in front of himself, clasping them together. Steve knew how to push his buttons, all right. 

He wasn't sure if he agreed that he needed a "long session" with Steve. He could see Steve's point, since they hadn't had an entire evening to themselves in quite a while, but that meant that Steve was going to try to take him apart completely, and Tony always dreaded that almost as much as he craved it. 

He'd tap out if he needed to. He'd been more careful about risking injury after the shoulder incident; he hadn't even argued about walking into the bedroom. 

But he wasn't going to admit that now that Steve had challenged him. 

Which meant that Steve was going to get to see Tony break, and after all this time, Tony was still always afraid that this was going to be the time that Steve got turned off by how needy Tony could be. 

Steve chuckled as he cuffed Tony's hands together. "Can't resist anything that sounds like a challenge, can you?" He ruffled Tony's hair carelessly. 

Then Steve undid his jeans: unbuckling his belt but leaving it in the loops, opening his fly to reveal that he wasn't wearing anything underneath. He sat down on the edge of the bed directly in front of Tony. "We'll start with something easy, though." 

He took his cock--already hard and leaking pre-come--out of his pants, rubbing the head over Tony's lips. Tony's tongue darted out, tracing the path Steve's cock had taken, chasing the faint taste of Steve on his mouth. 

"Want more?" 

"Yes, sir. Please." He parted his lips eagerly, letting Steve feed him his cock. Tony relaxed his throat, knowing that he was still probably going to wind up choking on it. Not that that was a bad thing; he loved the feeling of being pushed past his limits, and since Steve wanted that from him, it didn't count as failure. 

One of Steve's hands was resting in Tony's hair; as Steve began to thrust into Tony's mouth, his fingers tightened in Tony's hair, pulling hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. Every tug on his hair sent a throb of arousal through him. 

Steve wasn't holding anything back tonight; Tony felt as though his throat was stuffed full of Steve's cock. That was exactly what he needed right now; he wasn't able to think about anything else, and he could feel himself slipping into a pleasant haze where all he had to do was be perfect for Steve. 

He did his best to let it happen. Letting Steve use him like this was simple and familiar. Tony had let a lot of people use his body in similar ways, and he'd done the same to other people; it didn't mean anything except that they were going to have a very good time. 

That was why Steve usually eased him into things by starting out this way, letting Tony put himself into subspace by doing something that only demanded that he follow orders, not that he leave himself emotionally open. 

Steve clutched hard at Tony's hair, holding him perfectly still to take one last thrust of Steve's cock, and then the rush of salt-and-bitter on his tongue as Steve came. 

Tony could swallow like a champion. Tony could take Steve's cock any way Steve wanted to give it to him. He could be so good for Steve, at least like that. 

But then, as Steve pulled back to let Tony get his breath, he also leaned down to kiss the top of Tony's head, whispering, "That's one of the reasons why I'm so damn glad you're my fella." Even though Tony wanted to laugh at the hopelessly outdated expression, he could feel his throat constricting from the rush of emotion. 

Steve could sound perfectly modern most of the time, but when he was really emotional about things, he sounded like what he was: a guy from 1930s Brooklyn. 

And when Steve sounded like that, it always hit Tony again: what they had, how many times they'd come close to losing it all over some argument, how hard they'd fought to keep it. Sometimes he felt like he was drowning in everything he felt for Steve. 

He never had, though. He could take this, too, because Steve wanted him to. 

It was just a lot more difficult than taking Steve's cock, or Steve's hand, or Steve's belt. 

Which, he supposed, was the point. If he wanted to show Steve how good he could be, it wouldn't work to just stick to things that were easy for him. Dammit. 

Steve tapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Getting too far into your head?"

He nodded guiltily. 

"I should have kept you busier. Come on, then, let's get you onto the bed." 

Grateful for the distraction, Tony let Steve help him up to his feet, his balance thrown off slightly by having his wrists cuffed together. He got onto the bed, lying on his stomach and then rising up onto his knees, bracing himself on his forearms. 

Steve's hand came down to rest warmly on the small of his back. "Oh, you're very good," he said, "but that's not what I want from you right now."

Tony frowned a little, because that was usually what came next. Steve could get hard again quickly, so they didn't need to wait for him to recover. By the time Tony was prepared for him, Steve would be ready too. 

"What do you want, then, sir?"

Steve got onto the bed next to Tony, holding his arms open. "Come here, boy."

Tony was a little doubtful about Steve's plans, but he obeyed. At least he knew Steve wouldn't be trying to get him to have a meaningful conversation about their relationship. Both of them tried to keep those to a minimum, and they never had them when Tony had his collar on, even if they were _about_ the collar. 

Steve didn't seem inclined to talk at all; instead, he looked Tony in the eye and then kissed him, slowly and deliberately. Tony kissed him back, trying to urge Steve to take what he wanted, _now_. 

"Slowly," Steve murmured, and then moved up to kiss Tony's forehead, his temples, his closed eyelids. It was...

Honestly, Tony didn't know how to feel about it. He didn't like "slowly." He wasn't good at "slowly." Not like this, not when he wanted Steve this much.

But Steve was running his hands over Tony's back, kissing his way down Tony's cheeks--first one side, then the other--to his jaw, then his neck, and murmuring, "Let me be good to you. Can you do that for me?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice, because he didn't actually know. He should know, after all the time that he and Steve had been together, after all the time they'd been doing this, but he still wasn't certain. 

But Steve had figured out a while back that pushing Tony right up to his limits--and maybe a little beyond, with Tony's full approval--didn't involve making him stand humiliation or physical discomfort. 

No, he had to stand _this_. No jokes, no banter, no deflection, no ridiculous competitive sex, no starting an argument to change the subject. Just Steve, displaying all the naked, honest emotion that Tony usually tried to duck away from, no matter how much he wanted it. 

"I need you to answer me out loud," Steve said. "Can you do that for me?"

"Yes?" Tony tried. 

"That's a question, not an answer."

"I don't know," he confessed. "But I'll try."

"And you'll tap out if it's too much for you." 

He shrugged. 

"Give me your word, please."

With a sigh, he said, "Yes, sir. If I don't think I can handle it, I promise I'll let you know."

"Thank you." Steve went back to kissing his way down Tony's body, finding every scar, no matter how tiny, and devoting his full attention to it until he was satisfied, then moving on to the next patch of skin. 

He wasn't talking, though, and that helped. Steve touching him like this? That was hard, because sometimes he still had trouble believing that Steve loved him. That Steve still loved him after every fight they'd had, every time Tony hadn't been what Steve hoped he would be. 

He didn't think Steve secretly hated him, or that Steve was planning to leave him. It was just a lot to process, and Tony wasn't great at processing his feelings. If he had been, there wouldn't have been as many chunks of the nineties that he barely remembered. 

So he hadn't ever really tried to deal with the entire complicated mess that was the way he felt about Steve--the way he loved Steve, and Steve loved him, even when they didn't always like each other. There were always other things to do, other things to focus on, instead of getting his head on straight. And that meant that every now and then, his faith in their relationship wavered.

As difficult as this was, it would be a lot harder if Steve was verbalizing his emotions--assuming Steve had any clearer picture of them than Tony did, which was a big assumption--because then he might expect Tony to do the same thing. 

For someone who talked as much as Tony did, he hated saying important things without at least one layer of bullshit covering them. 

This way, though, Tony could just think of this as Steve's idea of incredibly slow foreplay. After all, that was true, even if it wasn't the only thing it was. 

That didn't mean that by the time Steve had finished exploring every single scar the explosion and the arc reactor and just generally being Iron Man had left on his body, Tony didn't feel a tight knot of emotion just beneath his rib cage. 

Yeah, that needed to just get pushed back down. Tony had been looking forward to date night with Steve, not some big emotional epiphany. And dammit, fighting it back was definitely keeping him from getting all the way into subspace. 

He held out all the way until Steve reached his right hip--having deliberately avoided any of the more interesting areas slightly to the left, because Steve was the worst--but finally, he couldn't take it any more. 

"St--" he began, and then caught himself. Did he want Steve to stop things, to take Tony's collar off and let tonight go back to "normal"? It'd be a lot more comfortable, but--

Steve was holding still, looking up at Tony but not saying a word.

"Sir," Tony said, and put his hands on Steve's shoulders, gripping them tightly. 

Steve moved back up the bed with what would be surprising speed if he wasn't Captain America; without a word, he put his arms around Tony, pulling him close. 

Tony was glad Steve was still wearing his T-shirt; he could wrap fistfuls of it around his fingers and cling to Steve. 

For once, he couldn't find anything to say. Maybe it was more accurate to say that there were too many things he wanted to say; everything got backed up in his throat, tangled with all the other half-sentences, so that all he could get out was, "Damn it," before he buried his face in Steve's shoulder. 

Steve chuckled. "Yeah, I know," he said, rubbing Tony's back. "You hate this, and you hate me, and I'm the biggest jerk in Manhattan because every now and then, I want to actually show you that I love you."

"You got it," Tony said. "But just so we're clear, I'm also fine and we don't need to stop."

"All right," Steve said, but he still held on to Tony, murmuring things that were too soft for Tony to make out the words. The tone of his voice soaked into him somehow, though, warm and reassuring. "I believe you."

Steve should believe him, because Tony was fine. Really fine. That wasn't denial or bluster or sarcasm; his defenses had collapsed all at once, and he was _fine_, the sound of Steve's voice soothing his mind and letting him begin to relax again. 

After a little while, Steve must have thought Tony had relaxed enough, because he started kissing him again, running his hands further down Tony's back to his ass. "And now that you've let me give you some of what you need, maybe I'll get around to giving you what you want," he said. 

Tony decided not to spoil the mood by saying that it was about time. Talking back to Steve might earn him a punishment. When Tony submitted, he didn't want to earn punishments; he wanted to do things right the first time.

In the end, he decided to stick with, "Please?" 

"Sometimes," Steve said, as he parted Tony's cheeks and slid one finger between them, "I wish you could ask for other things as easily as you ask for this."

"Sorry, sir," he mumbled. 

"You don't have to apologize, boy. I want that for your sake, not mine. I'm perfectly capable of dragging it out of you." Steve grinned as his finger pressed against Tony's hole, drawing a whimper from Tony. 

"Let me get the lube," he said. "You can get yourself back into position for me."

As soon as Steve let go of him, Tony got back onto his knees and forearms, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. Not that the emotional side of this was over, not completely; he felt more in control of himself, and definitely calmer, but he couldn't shield himself from the obvious affection in every word and touch from Steve. 

Tomorrow. He could do that again tomorrow. Tonight, all he had to do was show Steve how much he could take. 

Steve got him ready quickly, using one finger to slick Tony up and encourage him to relax. "Fast or slow? You've been so good that you get to choose."

Tony knew Steve meant what he said; whatever choice he made, it wouldn't be wrong. If what Tony wanted tonight was to be fucked hard and fast and as rough as Steve was willing to be, that would be what he'd get. 

But Steve thought Tony needed to be taken apart gently and slowly, and in this one context, this one way, Tony always trusted Steve to know best. 

"Slow," he said, and he could almost feel the warmth of an approving smile washing over him, even if he couldn't see Steve's face. 

He did feel Steve's hand rubbing over his hip, and the gentleness in his voice when he said, "Good call." 

He'd thought that Steve might drag out the preparation, but instead, after a few moments of wet sounds that he recognized as Steve applying lube to himself, Tony could feel the head of Steve's cock nudging at his hole. 

"Try to just enjoy it," Steve said. "Let me do all the work."

Yet another thing that Tony wasn't good at. He liked to take a much more active role in things; lying back and enjoying himself wasn't his style. 

God damn it, Steve really was determined to make Tony demonstrate just how much he could take, wasn't he?

But Tony closed his eyes, making himself breathe slowly and deeply as Steve took his sweet time pushing into him. It wasn't painful, even with the limited prep Steve had done; they did this often enough that the slow slide of Steve's cock into him only left him with a feeling of almost impossible fullness. He'd ache a little tomorrow--Steve was definitely not small--but that would just be a pleasant reminder for him. 

No, what was difficult was not pushing back against Steve's cock, not urging him on, not trying to silently demand _more, harder, faster._ That was why he had to focus on his breathing, on the heat of Steve's hand on his hip. 

And then, as Steve finally began to move inside him, he also started to talk. "You're so perfect like this," he said, and "always so good for me," and "so brave," which Tony almost laughed at. He went out wearing high-tech armor and armed with repulsor blasts, and Steve fought with a glorified trash-can lid, so who was the brave one, again?

But he didn't laugh, and Steve kept talking. Steve liked to talk during sex, so that was nothing new, but in general, Steve's pillow talk was filthy. 

Today he wasn't telling Tony how hot he was, or asking him how he liked the feeling of Steve's cock splitting him open, or any of the other things Steve usually said, the things that meant Tony could barely keep his laughter in check when Steve reminded one of them to watch their language out in the field. 

(Tony understood that Steve wasn't entirely serious about those warnings, but also that there were thousands, at least, of little kids who were likely to see the inevitable YouTube footage, none of whom needed to hear Clint yell, "Aw, fuck me sideways," when an opponent got the jump on him. Still, Steve's scolding was hilarious when five minutes before the call to assemble, he'd been promising to fuck Tony so hard that he'd feel Steve's cock in his throat.) 

But today, nothing was about Tony's ass and how much Steve liked it, or about how Tony was hard and literally whining for Steve to touch his cock, since the cuffs meant that Tony couldn't do it himself. 

It was all about how much Steve loved him, how good Tony was, how he belonged to Steve. "You're such a good boy for me," Steve said, and Tony had to fight with conflicting urges: to twist around and glare at Steve for that, and to just bask in it. 

"That's right," Steve went on, "and tonight you're going to let me tell you so with no arguments, aren't you?"

"Yes, sir," Tony said, and really, he could do that for Steve, if that was what Steve asked of him. 

It felt like Steve had been fucking him forever, his thrusts long and slow and deep, until Tony thought he was going to lose his mind from it. His cock ached, his muscles were trembling, and every now and then, when Steve's running commentary touched on one of the areas where Tony was--to his infinite embarrassment--the neediest, he had to swallow hard and keep his eyes shut tight, because the last thing he intended to do was to cry. 

(It probably would be the last thing he did, because Steve had an uncanny ability to wring that out of him at the end.) 

"Do you need me to touch you?"

"Oh. God. Please." Tony groaned as Steve reached down and wrapped his hand around Tony's cock, beginning to stroke him in time with his thrusts. 

"Gonna come for me?" Steve sped up a little, and Tony struggled not to fuck into his hand. "Come on, be good for me," he said, kissing the back of Tony's neck and nibbling lightly at the skin. Tony liked it when Steve used his teeth. He liked marks on his skin, as long as they wouldn't show once his clothes were on, but he knew that wasn't going to happen today. 

That was okay, though; this felt too good for him to complain about anything, even inside his head. 

"_Come_, boy," Steve said again, this time making it sound like an order. The timbre of Steve's voice was the last little bit that Tony needed; he moaned, coming into Steve's fist.

And dammit, there were the tears: not noisy sobs, just a hot rush of them spilling over his cheeks. He buried his face in the pillow until he could get himself under control. 

Tony was still trying to do that when Steve thrust deep into him and came too, hands gripping Tony's hips tightly enough that there would be bruises tomorrow. 

Afterward, Steve collapsed on the bed next to him, wrapping an arm around Tony's chest and pulling him in close again. "How are you feeling?"

His throat was too tight for him to speak just yet, but he nodded and then rested his head on Steve's shoulder. 

Steve rubbed his back slowly. "You don't have to say anything," he said. "I know you love me." 

Tony swallowed hard and managed to find his voice again. "I do, but I don't have a problem saying that." No, it was all the other things he found difficult, things like _I want to spend the rest of my life with you_, and _Sometimes, I even like it when you try to take care of me._

"I love you, too," Steve said. 

"I know."

"That had better not be a _Star Wars_ reference. Just because I admitted I liked it doesn't mean I want to keep hearing about it, and you and Clint are both terrible." 

"You say you love me," Tony said, "and then you compare me to Clint. I'm getting mixed signals here." 

Shaking his head, Steve reached up and unbuckled Tony's collar. At Tony's sigh, he said, "Speaking of mixed signals. You always have to debate whether or not you want this on, and then you don't want me to take it off."

"It's a good thing you love me."

"It is." He put the collar on the bedside table and then got up. "I'll be back in a minute," he said, pulling the blanket at the foot of the bed up to cover Tony. 

Tony knew where Steve was going: to get water and a snack and something to clean Tony up with, because Steve's version of aftercare involved a lot of fussing. 

But right now, that was okay, because it meant that all Tony had to do was lie here under the blanket, close his eyes, and, for another couple of minutes, allow himself to enjoy the warmth of Steve's affection.

****

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Carbon Leaf's "Life Less Ordinary." 
> 
> You can find me on [dreamwidth.](https://mireille719.dreamwidth.org/)


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